


Exhausted and Bruised

by KrisKikstorky



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Asexual Jughead Jones, I'm just gonna grab my stuff and leave, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Well there was a consent, Why Did I Write This?, but not a good one, but not really, how do I tag this?, not really a non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisKikstorky/pseuds/KrisKikstorky
Summary: Let's do a fun sex-scene with Asexual Jughead, having a panic attack and Bret being a little shit and a sweetheart at the same time. It might not be a bad idea, but it got out of hands... Sorry about that.There is no such thing as control. There is only chaos. -Jughead Jones describing this fic.
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Bret Weston Wallis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Exhausted and Bruised

**Author's Note:**

> I thought we definitely need more Jughead/Bret fanfics and Asexual Jughead ones. And I tried...  
> Also, there is a non-con warning to make sure everyone's safe (That's probably the most American thing I've ever done in my life...). There was a consent offscreen, but Jughead's asexuality is there so it becomes a mess really quickly.

His thumbs gently wipe tears off my cheeks. He whispers softly how good I am, reminding me to breath and relax. There is boiling heat radiating from him and his burning breath is rubbing against my complexion. My sharp nails dig deep into his arms clutching his hot skin tightly.

"Open your eyes." he breathes tenderly.

I shake my head, refusing to watch the rest of my price disappear. As he kisses me, I can feel the wetness of his lips. 

"Open them now." This time it sounds like a real order.

The beige ceiling seems to be gray in the semi-darkness and I can hear the way rain collides into the only window in our dorm room. Bret's fingers draw infinite tangled patterns.

"You're hyperventilating." he noted curiously like my obvious panic is an enormously interesting phenomenon. The real problem is that my lungs don't work at all. They clutch painfully, burn and compress my heart that is freaking out as it thumps loudly.

I nod wildly and try my best to hold tears away. There is a dusty old ceiling shining weakly above my head.

"Just do it." I choke out, exhaling deeply. I wish nothing bot for it to end so I can curl up and cry. I just wish to be able to let my boiling body cool down.

"-You sure?" Like he gave a monkey's about me, he wouldn't stop if I asked him to.

"Sure." Of course not, I didn't want any of that. The show hasn't even begun yet and his heat is melting me alive.

There are pictures of the Stonewall Prep football team, few of him and Donna, whose pearl white teeth shine from behind the glass of frames hanging on the blue walls.

I breathe out too swiftly, hurt-like as he thrusts for the first time. He whispers how good I am, such a good boy, beautiful and amazing. Obedient to his wishes. Enslaved by my own naiveness and stupidity. I don't want to hear any of that- not Bret nor the annoying voice in my head.

I feel sick -physically sick- no doubt I'm about to vomit although it doesn't come. He kisses me intimately and sweetly until I turn away my head to make it impossible for him. That makes him focus on the rhythm of his hips, which leads him to the edge successfully. At this point I'm not even trying to quiet down my cries just the way he's not trying to calm down the beast inside him, the part of him leaded by drive that I obviously lack. 

Seconds drag on, playing games with the rest of my senses telling me they could last forever and make me suffer forever inevitably. 

He does not make me come, probably to leave me a pinch of self-respect. But I feel disgusting heat inside my body, an unknown feeling.

And just like that it was over. I've survived the evil ride that I don't ever want to come back to. But it can't be worse, so only less-terrible things wait for me.

"I'll take a shower," my voice comes out hoarse as I slip from Bret's arms. I head to the closest bathroom with nothing but a blanket around my body, I can't stand his presence. I have to wash myself, scrub my blemished skin.

The water is boiling hot or it might be freezing, but I can't tell. I have no idea which answer is correct, but the temperature difference between the water and my skin paralyses me. Wave of nausea swept over me because of Bret's unmistakable cologne.

He could have marked me by a collar it wouldn't matter, write 'slut' on my forehead by indelible marker, announce it on the radio or have an article in the local newspaper. The distinctive scent of his shower gel and male fragrance screams for everybody to hear that I'm not a proud gang leader anymore- I'm just a little submissive bitch. 

I spread the slimy liquid on my body, from shoulders past arms to the wrists and back, from collar bones to my last rib, wherever I can reach my back. From hips past outer thighs down to knees without bending down. 

I repeat the process again to make sure I did not leave a single piece of skin. My fingers peel off most of the dirt that ends up behind fingernails. Now I can see these are my skin cells, beige and slightly pink, leaving my body scared my red lines on places where I dug too deeply.

But the worst is still waiting for me and I realise I'm not sure how to deal with it. I might sit down in the shower and wait for it to spill or hope it will get soaked. I can cry until I pass out from dehydration, so someone else will have to deal with it.

I can hear the doorknob click and I jerk. At this point there is literally nothing to be afraid of, what could Bret do to me? Have sex with me without a consent?

"You're taking your time, huh?" he notes casually. I notice he is wearing black sweat pants, a solid material that keeps his skin and mine apart.

"I have no idea how to get rid of that thing," I whimper bashfully making sure not to look him in the eyes. His toes, directed towards me, come two steps closer. There might be a foot between us, so the water wets his trousers, making it darker as the fabric fits tightly to his muscular legs.

"You're not going like this one," he warns me straight, receiving a devoted wordless nod. "You should hug me around my neck- you can scratch, bite, whatever. God the water is freezing," he turns the tap slightly and I can finally feel my skin.

In a blink of an eye, his long fingers enter me one more time. Ty own fingers tighten up and bury into his warm skin. "Bret-" hurt moan escapes my throat.

"Shh..." he soothes me quietly "You can do this- you're doing so good..." he keeps on repeating similar nonsense while working inside me.

"Bret," I whisper brokenly.

"Let it go," he encourages me "Just a moment." He doesn't have to say it twice, I sob like it's a command. Like I'm just a little child robbed of a lollipop. 

Suddenly it is over, it's just Bret petting my back carefully and talking softly.

"Wha-?" I don't hear a word he says, just recognize his melodic voice as it flows like a symphony I cannot quite understand.

"We should go back to the bed... If you don't want to stay here-" he doesn't push me, leaving me with the opportunity not to join him and cry in the nearest corner till sunrise. 

"Can I- may I go home- please?" I don't dare to look him in the eye although our bodies don't touch each other anymore. I am painfully aware of his intense glance on my reddened cheeks, but I keep on staring at his abs, which show up from behind his tanned skin. The symmetrical tissue far away from his eyes and parts of his body I don't want to see.

"I'm not driving you to Riverdale in the middle of the night. At least wait for morning," his left hand rests on my chin, making me look up.

"I can walk," by foot dozens of miles, stained and smelling like Bret Weston Wallis, but it still sounds better than returning to the bed. Waiting for hours for the first bus or train, even hitchhiking. I manage to go around him without a single touch. "I forgot my towel," I confess humiliated as I realize I cannot go anywhere without destroying the blanked I came here wrapped in. The mirror is covered in fog and little drops of water condense on window panes.

"So you're about to storm into your house at three a.m.?" I can hear the mockery in his voice and see the way he raised one of his eyebrows without looking at him. He looks like a typical jock with that stupid grin on his face. He hands me a snow-white towel with a perfect little W written in one corner.

"I don't have a better plan," I confess, too tired to come up with a sassy answer.

"Stop making a fuss and come back to bed," he's already heading to our room, trouser legs still dripping wet but he has that pleased smile on his lips.

On my way back to my room wrapped up in the towel, I finally realize the lack of shoes and socks. As I'm crossing the hall barefoot, the freezing floor makes me shiver. Bret gives me a searching look when door squeaks behind me. He has already changed the sheets on his bed and now he's just reading one of his books.

"Come here," he asks me to lie next to him and lifts the duvet slightly. It looks perfectly natural, like it's just another day in his life. 

"I think I'll just crash on my bed- I could really use some time on my own." And now it's his words that stop me from climbing on my bed.

"One should not be alone after being deflowered- come on, Forsythe." His words sound creepy as they directly point out I lost something,

"It's weird as you say it with such a confidence."

"Obviously. You don't look eager for another round."

All I want is to go to sleep and have the option to tell myself nothing happened in the morning, it was a nightmare. "I didn't mean to make a scene."

"At least it's unforgettable," he points out with a grin, but something tells me he doesn't mean in in a bad way.

"I have never thought about liking guys."

"I'm not quite sure you do like guys..." He is thinking out loud now. I have to admit my behaviour might not show it.

"It may be just an allergic reaction to your existence."

"Forsythe, you can really boost guy's ego, right?"

"I'm just scared of my dad's reaction," I mumble to make it easier for both of us. It sounds better than to say that I feel dirty again. I definitely need one shower more. I don't think dad will be angry with me- he likes Tony too much to be homophobic. 

But there is this feeling- it's just like overeating and feeling too big for your own skin and wanting to get away, but not being able to stop eating at the same time.

I won't ever be able to change what happened that night so I was left with nothing but Bret's touch on my skin reminding me how stunning his heat is.

"You think so much it actually hurts," he starts to play with my messy wet hair. "Don't worry, you'll be fine- I mean, he came to visit you and that is not really a thing here."

"You're probably right," I whisper back and nestle against his body.

"What we did today is not a bad thing in any way. You know that, right?" the competitiveness disappears just like the usual arrogance from his voice. At this particular moment he's just a boy taking care of his lover.

As soon as I nod, he kisses the top of my head, turns off the light and snuggles up. I fall asleep in a moment and my sleep is much deeper than it has been in years.

I wake up in a tight clinch, swallowed in his limbs. "Not a morning person, are you?" he notes when I come fully back to reality.

"You could have got up," I point out embedding deeper into warm duvet. "It's Saturday, right?"

"I would pull your ass out of bed if it wasn't."

"I can't believe you wouldn't enjoy me coming late and bursting into a class," I have as much of a stretch as I can without getting up.

"I just didn't want you to wake up alone in a cold bed," there is raw honesty in his answer.

And I like to believe this wasn't actually the first time that a thought of liking Bret's presence came to my mind.


End file.
